Autassassinophilia
by leoandsnake
Summary: It's a hot night and Iceman and Maverick set out to make it hotter. One-shot.


_A/N: This was supposed to be shorter. Title is a reference to a paraphilia that I think describes Maverick perfectly._

_Warnings: Public(ish) fornication, gayness, blah blah blah. It's Top Gun, Tony Scott should be the one warning for gay, not me._

_Also, I have unnatural amounts of love for Val Kilmer._

-

"It's _hot,_" Maverick moaned.

They were in Iceman's living room. It was some hour of the night, and the Tonight Show was flickering in front of them, but neither of them were watching it.

Ice was lying on the couch behind Maverick on his stomach, broad honey-tan shoulders slumped, looking like a golden retriever. His dog tags fell between his shoulder blades. "It's called summer," he muttered.

"It's called _hot."_

"Take your shirt off," Iceman said, rolling over, looking up at the ceiling. His own shirt was tossed over a nearby chair. He had tried to be casual about it, but Maverick had seen him tug at the ends so it lay flat. ("Things _wrinkle,_ Maverick, don't you have any pride in your appearance?" he would defend himself later.)

"You _would_ want me to take my shirt off, Kazansky," Maverick shot back.

Iceman murmured something unintelligible that sounded like an insult and sat up. "Okay, c'mere."

"Wha?"

Iceman leapt off the couch, grabbed Maverick by the arm, and began dragging him toward the door in one fluid motion. "If you'll shut up I'll show you."

Ice pulled him out into the humid San Diego night and down the sidewalk. Maverick noticed, for the umpteenth time, the eerie way Iceman seemed not to make noise as he walked, like the muscles in him were so tightly coiled he didn't even make contact with the earth.

A few scattered stars twinkled against a pitch-black night. There was no moon, it had faded from a fragile crescent into nothing a few nights before, and the streetlights were off behind dusky glass.

Iceman dragged Maverick onto his lawn. The grass was springy beneath his feet, somewhat wilted after the long day.

"Okay, what?" Maverick said impatiently.

Iceman padded over to his sprinkler system and toggled it with a finger. Jets of water began hitting Maverick below the waist.

"I still can't believe you have a _sprinkler system_," Maverick said with an eye-roll, "for your _lawn, _in _San Diego_."

"I have one of the few places on base with an actual lawn," Iceman muttered, ticking the sprinkler. "It's my job to take care of it." The jets began coming faster and lapped at Maverick's waist.

"What are you doing?" Maverick said irritably. He _liked_ these jeans. These were his stud jeans, the jeans that had helped him pick up more women than he could count. He didn't want them to be soaked.

"Maverick, has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?"

Maverick squinted to find Iceman's lean shape in the darkness as it headed toward him.

"Now," Iceman said, voice low and quiet, riding on the soft night around them.

He pushed Maverick backward gently. Maverick took the cue and fell back into the soft grass. Ice landed on top of him and kissed him on the jaw.

"Nice, isn't it?" Ice said softly.

The jets of water were arcing above them and interlacing like a fountain. A soft, cool mist was hitting the both of them as they lay there.

"Yeah," Maverick murmured, and kissed him back on the mouth, holding Iceman's jaw with both hands.

Iceman's hand crept toward Maverick's jeans and undid the top button.

"Ice," Maverick said, "Ice, there could be anyone around --"

"There's no one around, trust me."

"This is a _naval base_, it's the _military,_ for fuck's sake --"

"That's what you're worried about?" Iceman said, undoing the next button and shifting against Maverick so that their crotches brushed slightly, teasingly. Maverick felt Iceman's erection already raging. There was no going back now, he supposed, Iceman never did anything halfway.

"This part of the Navy is very lax, Maverick," Ice murmured, "on that sort of thing. Now shut up."

"_Ohhhh_," Maverick said aloud, tilting his head back as Iceman's hand reached its destination. "Someone's going to hear us," he hissed a moment later.

"They won't if you don't _scream_."

"I don't s_cream_ --"

"What was that the other night, then? OH, TOM! OH,_ TOM_!" Iceman cried out (quietly) in a ridiculous falsetto.

"_Fuck _you, you motherfucking -- _ohhhhhhh..._"

Iceman kissed him again, tilting his face to the side and parting Maverick's lips with his tongue.

Maverick's tongue mingled with Ice's, wonderfully and torturously slow. He liked that about Iceman, how good it felt to kiss, not just a pretense to anonymous sex.

Maverick had never been known to wax poetic, but it felt like it meant something.

He seperated from Ice and put an arm around him, bracing himself against Ice's back as he ground against him.

"Wait, wait," Iceman panted, "don't rub me off yet, I wanted to fuck you..."

"Yeah," Maverick said, leaning back against the cool grass, feeling feverish against the blades. He took in a deep breath. "Yeah, that would be great... How romantic of you, by the way."

"I don't really do romantic," Iceman muttered, kissing Maverick again. Maverick rolled over, his dark hair mingling with the grass.

Iceman pulled the jeans down a bit more and began slowly thrusting against Maverick, muttering nothings into his ear.

Then he broke into a fit of swearing.

"What --" Then Maverick felt something seeping through the seat of his pants. "Oh," he said wearily. "It's fine, Tom."

"Shit. I could have sworn I had it under control."

"It's_ fine_, Tom, Jesus Christ."

"Shit," Iceman repeated, falling onto Maverick and lapsing into silence. Maverick breathed in the night air, enjoying the sensation of mist on his face and Iceman's warmth against his skin. He was crushing Maverick a little, but it was okay, it was a nice kind of steady pressure. Like Iceman himself. Maverick had an odd passing thought that if Iceman weren't holding him to the earth, he might float away.

"I think I can feel it move sometimes," Maverick muttered.

"What?"

"The planet. It's like... I don't know." Maverick spread his arms in the grass. "Slow. Kind of nice, like, comforting."

"You're a weird-ass, Mitchell."

"I know."

Iceman rolled off of Maverick slightly, one arm still stretched across his back possessively. "I could fall asleep right here," he said into Maverick's ear.

"Don't."

"That would be shits and giggles to explain to Slider. 'Well, we aren't exactly eligible for the trophy anymore, I got caught asleep on top of Pete Mitchell on my front lawn by my neighbors and was dismissed from the Navy.'"

Maverick chuckled.

"Could you really fall asleep right here?"

"Probably," Iceman said. "Couldn't you?"

Maverick looked up through the soft darkness, encloaking him like a blanket. Felt the warm, steady breath against his neck.

"Yeah. I could."


End file.
